


Those who mourn

by sorrym8dontcare



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Loki (Marvel) Feels, M/M, Multi, Poetry, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrym8dontcare/pseuds/sorrym8dontcare
Summary: A funeral, a death, can bring people together in the most grieving way. Unexpected people, sad unexpected people, sad unexpected Gods, bring unexpected situations to those of expectancy.





	Those who mourn

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this very sad and emotional thing xxxxxxxx 
> 
> Personally, I think Lady Loki is very Angelina Jolie xxxxxxx

The funeral isn't what Charlie Hughes would've wanted. It is too dark and sunken and gloomy and cold for the veteran who was all summer-kissed and starry-eyed and was the type of man who planted dreams and wishes and HOPE into every weary soldier.

Steve, dressed to mourn instead of to celebrate a brilliant life, looks around and the music is too sad, too melancholy, Charlie was neither of those things. 

He was jubilant, even when he was too weak to walk or dance he was rolling around in his wheelchair, carting his grandchildren around like a Carnival wagon. Charlie had been one of the few, oh so very few, soldiers that believed he could fight, could do something more, something better, greater. Steve and Bucky grew up with him, the three Brooklyn boys that would play and scheme from the crack of dawn to the last whisper of dusk. 

Bucky stands not far from Steve, too dressed in sad clothes, and he is talking to Irene, Charlie's youngest sister, who smiles fondly and he hears her say at some point "I wished I still looked as good as you, Buck, I've shrivelled up like damn prune,". 

Charlie had been an attractive lad growing up, golden and freckle-smattered and fawn-brown hair that went flaxen in the summers where they would all play soccer in the street with the Wicker boys across the road, and Steve would always be in goal. He was the funny one, the hope-giver, the dream-chaser. And his first love was his only. 

During thier training Charlie had met a woman of unimaginable beauty. She had been fair like winter and with a head of knee-length ebony locks that every girl glared at in envy, regal looking with her sharp jaw and high-cheekbones and her eyes were of the brightest green. Everyone called her Lucky, for she won every card game and was a master of mind games and lies. A cunning girl. British, as well.

And Steve had thought both of them dead, till a couple years back. Peggy had mentioned Charlie, commenting that he'd just had his fourth grandchild, and Steve had felt his heart bloom, soul jumping in joy to know that someone else was still alive (this was before Bucky). He turned up at Charlie's house, grinning and slightly nervous, and when the door opened it was a tall man, freckled with ebony hair and starry-eyes in his early fifties, who smiled wide and bright at the sight of him. Charlie and Lucky had gotten married three years after the war, an extravegant thing he was told, and soon enough they had thier first of five children, Leo. Then there was Anna, then Jonathan, then Robert, and finally Ella, all of them freckled and dark-haired and bright-eyed. 

Charlie himself was nearly a hundred years old, but God he looked good for it. Yes he couldn't walk and his face was lined with welts and wrinkles, but he still had a marvelous head of white hair and his eyes always crinkled bright when he smiled, his laughter just as contagious as it was nearly seventy years ago. 

Steve had asked about Lucky and a smile fell across his face, filled with sadness and heart-ache. Anna, the bloody spitting image of her mother, had gazed over to Ella, who was holding her first born child, Logan, securely in her arms, pressed her lips together. 

Lucky had died a couple of years ago, caught in the crossfire of a shooting between police and a drug cartel, bled out in the road.

"Miss her everyday, Steve, wish I was with her, she would joke about the whole thing, she always used to do that," Charlie had admitted and Leo, eyes of emeralds, tapped his fingers on the table, forlorn. 

The ceremony is horribly sad, again much unlike Charlie, and the music suddenly becomes tear-jerking for Steve because it is one of thier songs, the songs they used to play at every waking moment. He turns his head to look at Bucky and sees the wobbling sheen of tears glazing his dark eyes, the muscle in his jaw clenching tight. Steve swallows hard, and closes his eyes when Anna releases a cry, choking on her words, and her husband, Angus, sad-heartedly ushers her from he podium. 

Leo's twin daughters, Alice and Grace, seem to get the idea of what Charlie would've wanted, because they smile and laugh as they each tell a humorous story, one about Charlie climbing a tree to rescue a cat that wasn't there and another about when they went on holiday to Liverpool and watched a football match. It lightens the mood greatly, and they both too look like Lucky, with black braided hair and deep jade eyes that sparkle. 

Then Robert comes up to them and asks if they would like to speak, and Steve does. Bucky isn't as much of a talker like he used to be, he is the sweet-talker, soul-charmer, heart-catcher, no more. 

Steve talks about him and Bucky growing up with Charlie, how Charlie could turn a rainy day into the best game of soccer, the times where he would nick sweets from the local store just to cheer him up and the jokes he would pull on thier crude math teacher, Miss Fry. He shares the wisdom Charlie had bestowed to him during their training, wisdom of faith in yourself and self-love and forgiveness and hope and dreams and now Steve feels his words wobble slightly, so he stops. 

The ceremony is over and everyone leaves for the family to mourn. Everyone goes to the wake, ready to drink thier sorrows away and discuss the greatness of Charlie Hughes, but Steve needs a break. He stands outside, a sadly cliche drizzle of rain chilling him. Steve wipes the tears that mist his vision with the back of hands that slightly shake and he wishes, oh how he wishes, he could get drunk. Clenching his jaw and swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve turns to go to the wake but as he passes a frosted window that looks into the ceremony room, he sees a flash of green. 

He feels his heart start to thump like a wild rabbit and it leaps into his throat as he thinks that it is terrifyingly similar to the envy green colour as Loki's magic. But he's dead, at least that is what Thor told them, but Loki does have a history of faking his own death. With his hands balled into fists, Steve approaches the door, and silently opens it. 

And the first thing he hears is wailing, distraught and heart-broken. And it is Loki who is wailing.

The God is knelt on the floor, weeping hysterically into Leo's shoulder and Ella and Anna are crouched besides him, stroking his back, tears of thier own rolling down thier sharp cheeks. Jonathan and Robert stand to the side, chewing their fists or lips and spilling salt down their faces. The sound is disgustingly sad, so upset that it is making Steve feel sick like the feeling is spreading in the atmosphere like a air-born virus, the choked sobs and heart-heavy cries echoing around them.

The coffin is at the end of the room, dark mahogany wood gleaming from the pale light that beams from the circling window. Steve's first thought isn't questioning why Loki is here, but he sympathises for him. Cause the others would say, mainly Clint or Tony, that it is a ruse, a performance, a lie, but Steve doesn't care that Loki is the God of Lies, no one can fake the sound he is making, no one can sound like they are dying from heartache and lie about it. You- You just can't. Steve simply cannot believe that.

The sobs and wails die, and Loki lifts himself with the help of Leo. The God is dressed in all black, with a blazer hanging heavy off his slender shoulders, and Steve can't help but think he looks dreadfully alike to Charlie's children, and it sends his stomach churning horribly. 

Loki stares at the coffin and Leo places a hand on his back, looking at Loki with a sadness that is mutual and Steve realises thier eyes are the exact shade of green. He tries not to think about it, because it will mess with his head.

"We'll leave you, okay? he'll be buried soon, by the lake, remember that place?"

The breathless laugh that leaves Loki's lips is the sound of someone broken and beaten, tired and exhausted beyond relief. 

"Of course, you almost drowned there when you jumped in, despite the fact you couldn't swim, thought you were indestructible, your father had to save you,"

"Yeah... he taught me and Jon how to fish there too, caught that massive bass didn't you Jon?"

Jonathan nods with a wide smile, bright eyes glittering with tears that spill onto his cheeks, and Ella starts to sob suddenly, lurching forward like she is about to vomit with her arms wrapped around her stomach.

"Oh darling- sweetness come here- shh,"

Loki steps towards Ella and envelopes his arms around her, her head pressing into his shoulder and she sobs and sobs and sobs with such emotion Steve swears he can feel it pulsing around him, alive and breathing and almost like electricity. Stroking the knots out of her hair, Loki hushes Ella and presses a caring kiss onto her head, murmuring unintelligible words softly like prayers.

"Its okay... ssshhh ssshhh, I'm here- I know I've been gone a while but I'm here now, my sweet girl,"

"I-I-I miss him mum, so-so mu-much, It does-doesn't feel right without h-him!" 

The words prove his mind-tangling theory correct, and Steve swallows hard and feels his lungs spasm for a moment and his stomach flips and turns and he can hear his heart throb in his ears like thunder. And for a few minutes, there is nothing but the sharp sobs of Ella and the stifled whimpers from Anna and the constant and MOTHERLY hushing from Loki, caressing his daughter's hair and promising things that will hopefully come true. Because that is what Charlie always said, nothing is without hope. Soon Robert takes Ella beneath his arm and they start to trickle out the room, Leo hugging Loki tightly before following his siblings out the back door. 

And it is just Loki, standing in the pale light before Charlie's coffin.

Suddenly Loki's ebony hair starts to stretch and he can see a golden haze waft over him, the black suit disappearing in its place is the dress Lucky was wearing the first time her and Charlie met. Loki is Lucky now, always has been, and Steve is shocked to find that he isn't as surprised as he thought it would be. Lucky had always been cunning and cynical, always speaking fine words and many thought she was a princess from her etiquette, but she cirtainly wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty and did not hide away from any verbal conflict with her silver tongue. Steve's first thought when he had seen Loki was, "Jesus Christ, Lucky always said she'd haunt me,"

The dress is white with lace trimming and white heels, bright and stunning compared to the darkness of it all. The knee-length locks sway side to side as she walks slowly towards the coffin, she stops, staring down at the gleaming surface, and places her hand softly on top of it, stroking the wood like it is Charlie's cheek, like she used to do when she thought no one was looking. 

Steve can see that Loki doesn't have the strength, the mental capacity, to lift the coffin and see Charlie, cold and lifeless and empty and silent. Loki's voice is small and soft as she speaks, delicate yet slightly wavy and rough.

"I'm here Charlie, I'm so sorry I left you, but I was not myself and I didn't want to put our children, our children's children, at risk... they've all done so well, I am proud to be thier mother, I just... Norns- Charlie I need you so much, I need you to tell me you love me one more time, to tell me everything is oka because- because- I-"

And abruptly Loki turns from the coffin and SCREAMS. A terrible sound that is bone-deep and heart-heavy and breaks at the end. It takes Steve's breath away and sends his soul shrinking away in fear, because Loki is a God and Loki's rage before was only child's play. 

Loki buries her face into her trembling hands as she tumbles down to the floor on her knees, wailing sobs wracking her body with tremors and violent quivers and it is making Steve feel sick. He can't take it, he can't take it one bit. So he does what he thinks is right; he goes to comfort Loki.

He slips in and closes the door gently before tentatively approaching the mourning God. He pauses before her and crouches down, slowly and very softly wrapping an arm around her and easing her against his chest. She complies without any resilience, simply melting against him. Shifting slightly, Loki tucks her head into Steve's neck and her sharp-nailed hands claw into his dress shirt with almost enough strength to tear into it. She presses horrible cries and hot-wet tears into the flesh of his throat while Steve hesitantly rubs her back with one hand and cradles her head with the other. 

In this state, loki is compliant and unaware, the walls he's brought up to cover the weakness and pathetic thing he sees himself to be are wrecked down, revealing a sad, trembling God who is just begging, begging for love and mercy and hope and truth and-

"It hurts... It hu-hurts so much... I miss him- his love, Norns- I didn't e-even get to say goo-goodbye!"

The tears well in Steve's eyes and he can feel her emotion, her rawness, her hurt, her loss, leak into him and writhe in his chest and roil in his belly like an ugly thing that just wants to ruin and break and destroy and hurt! He swallows hard, clenches his jaw, feels the pain.

"I just want to die,"

He gasps, small and sharp. His heart, wild and beating, sings as a heartstring snaps. 

"No, no, it's... it's gonna be okay,"

Loki shivers and trembles against him, small and fragile.

"Charlie?"

Oh God. Oh please don't do this to him, or to Loki, please please please please. It is cruel. Why does everything have to be so cruel and sick and ugly and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

"No... I'm sorry, no"

The head of night sky hair lifts from his neck and Steve pinches his brows together in sadness as he sees the redness of Loki's fine emerald eyes and the smudge of running mascara as tears tumble down her scarlet cheeks, and for something so broken, she is beautiful. She doesn't bat an eyelid as she sets eyes on his, emerald on sapphire, and sighs, chest-deep and shaking, tired and with an air of carelessness.

"Of course it is you, the Golden boy, here to laugh at my weakness and-"

"Does it look like I'm laughing? I just... I'm sorry,"

Loki doesn't move away from him, her fingers flexing against the material of his shirt, and she swallows firmly, blinks to allow diamonds to slide down her face and Steve can't stop himself, and he uses his thumb to swipe them away. Loki looks at him with such shock and fear on her face that he feels his face flare up and he goes to say something, to apologize, but she doesn't let him.

"Stop looking at me like that, with sorry in your eyes... All I am is a tragedy to you, right? We'll stop it. Do you hear me!? Stop looking at me like you pity this monster before you!"

"Please stop that,"

She bares her teeth and her nails sink into the fabric of his shirt and Steve can feel the tremors of her body, the emotion writhing in her like a million beasts raging to escape from the ticking bomb of her soul. 

"Why should I?"

"Something happened to you, I can tell... And I don't know what happened, and I'm not saying it excuses you from what you did, but Charlie trusted you. Cared about you. Loved you. And- and I don't know honestly, "

Loki goes still. Ireful and bloodthirsty, a cold hatred, born from loss and pain, steeling her eyes as her lips tremble. She merges back into her former flesh, ebony and ivory and hard-edged, and throws himself out of Steve's grasp, desperation and tiredness pulling his gaunt face taunt and Loki wails through his teeth as shaking hands pull painfully at his hair. Slowly, Steve picks himself off the ground and swallows firm. The God looks like he is in pure and utter agony, like there is a savage dog gnawing a hole in his chest, ripping tendons and flesh and sinew with nothing by teeth made from sadness and claws of despair. 

It is strange to think that Steve knew Loki before New York, before the Tesseract and Chitauri, see him be someone who isn't just blood-hunger and war-trembling and sin-laughing and ready to burn the world just to see how bright it would shine before his feet. Lucky-Loki had been sly yet benevolent, a motherly soul with a double edged bite if you threatened those she loved, both yin and yang, both light and dark. But back then, her light blinded the darkness, drove it away.

"You- you probably think I was deceiving him, don't you, Captain? Assume I played a part of someone who I'm not, because a beast cannot be capable of love and compassion and maybe you're right, maybe I am not,"

"Believe it or not Loki, I have no doubt that you loved him... I can see that now, and I could see it back then. Though if I did doubt you, would you blame me?"

A humourless chuckle breaks past pink lips that quiver and Loki shakes his head, his eyes shifting from the ceiling window to the oak floor to Steve, green irises being swallowed by hallow pupils.

"No, I would not. After all, I am a liar, a trickster, a killer,"

A bravery, a courage born deep in his stomach, leaps into Steve's chest and he swallows the dryness down his throat.

"But you haven't always been that have you? A killer,"

A small curve of Loki's lips and Steve is almost reeling.

"Pain changes people, Captain,"

Steve stiffens, awaiting, preparing himself, and he cannot help but think that he is out of his depth here, think he has swam too far out and the tide is dragging him like a heart-hungry siren. Shoulders slumping and exhaling a soul-heavy breath, Loki looks sad. And it is that kind of sadness faithless poets wright about, that kind of look that can pull the stars out of the sky with nothing but SADNESS and it makes Loki look so vulnerable and weak and lost and, dare he say it, human. His eyes are dead yet scream stories of sorrow and unimaginable pain and loss and hurt and lies and truths that burn like fire and- God, Steve might possibly vomit, because the sadness that is born in Loki is fatal.

"I do not like what I have become, I truly don't. When I discovered my true heritage, my- fear had drove me to prove my worth, to prove that I was an Asgardian, true son of Odin, and not the monster mother's tell their children about... I murdered my own father and started a bloody war and I was over, and when I fell into the Void I slowly started to except it, except that fact that I can not hide from this, for it is in my blood to kill and hate and deceive and destroy all those I care for,"

Loki sniffs and lolls his head back, black strands of hair depressingly tumbling over his face and sticking to the wet cheeks. His eyes shine like stolen emeralds in the white-light of the day, and Steve thinks Loki looks more like a lost ghost, a broken soul, than a God.

"I have escaped those who have hurt me, the ones who flayed me in the vacuum and left me, beaten me into submission to do all their dirty work, the ones who defiled my body, my pride-"

And Steve almost gags because Christ Almighty, Loki better not be talking about-

"-I have escaped their clutches, but I will always be running and they will find me. In another Universe, I get away from Him. Right now I am trying to start a new, and Captain, it is far more difficult than fighting any war," 

"I am trying. Part of me died then so I could survive now, and I will grow again but I will never be the same...  
For a while I will be content, living a subtle and boring midgardian life, until suddenly I will not be able to stop shaking, and I will think about what happened, and I loath myself. I feel powerless. And maybe even a little ill. But mostly, I feel- pathetic!"

The chairs are flung violently against the walls and the air suddenly becomes almost electric and Steve can feel the surges of some invisible force that is unfathomably strong, whispering around the room like raging ghosts that want to take his living soul, his beating heart, his breathing lungs. He rationalises that it is Loki's magic, but maybe that is worse than life-longing spirits. 

Loki is suddenly falling into a deep pit of hysteria. His breathing is sharp and shallow and laboured and tears are falling so fast. His face is contorted into such strong grief and fear that Steve feels the heart-born need to take Loki into his chest, to ease the choking sobs that are trapped in his throat, to steady the writhing heart and soul that beat to get out. But he doesn't, cause Loki is dangerous and unhinged with his emotion and magic running wild.

"I-I am no longer living, I am just trying to SURVIVE! and it is hard because no good things happen, for I am not a good thing, I am barely a THING at all! I am this hideous creature that only knows how to take and destroy and I do not want to be it anymore but I don't have a choice, cause I was born to burn, born to be feared! It is in my blood, my nature, to hurt! And Charlie-"

Loki chokes on the name. The hysteria has faded and Loki looks like he is dying.

"Charlie... I did not deserve him and his greatness, his power of comfort and love that he only swore to me and it scared me at first, because never had anyone loved me like he did, and he still desired me when I told him the truth. His love was... unconditional, and I will never feel it again,"

And Steve sighs heavily as he starts towards the tired God, careful and tentative like he is approaching a wild thing who is willing to die but not without a spectacular fight. And when he is a mere foot away from Loki, Steve bravely draws him into his chest. Loki is aware and clear-minded and dangerous, and Steve doesn't let go when he feels the strain of lean muscles against his. But a few moments later, Loki breathes out a broken-born sigh and snakes his arms around Steve's neck and presses his forehead against the broad shoulder, drawing himself away from the edge of the darkness and into something- bright. The affection, the trust, is a breakthrough for the history books, Steve thinks as he places his large hand in the small of Loki's back, the other gently, feather-light, running up and down the length of his spine. He feels the shivers, but they aren't from the sadness anymore. 

"Fix it. Please,"

Steve furrows his face in confusion and looks down at the black curls that rest of his shoulder.

"Fix what, Loki?"

"Me,"

Oh God, Steve cannot help the tight squeeze he gives Loki when the words fall from his mouth, wobbly yet clear, and he inhales a quick and quaking breath into his aching lungs.

"I can't fix you, I am not capable of that, but I'll try and help you,"

A broken laugh is pressed into his shoulder and Steve winces.

"It will be a rotten Job, Captain,"

"It's Steve, and not to me..."

Not if it's you, he wants to finish but Jesus his head is off in the stars, floating in the purple-gold cosmos and amongst the breathing suns and dead moons. He cannot think such things, not when Loki is in a vulnerable state of mind and is grieving a lost lover, it is simply disrespectful and cruel. 

"Such kindness will get you killed, Steven, I hope you are aware,"

"Yeah, I've been told my heart will be the end of me but... I just can't stand to see suffering, I hate it. And you are no exception, yes you have done unspeakably horrible things but you are trying to gain redemption for yourself, you care and the Loki I met in New York is long gone, this one here-"

Loki's head rises from his shoulder and they are so close that Steve can feel the God's breath on his lips, his chest swells with the lark-song that blooms within him and Loki's eyes are glittering with something- something bright and star-born and ethereal and Lord above, he is beautiful. 

"This Loki with me now, you, is good,"

And they both start leaning in without even realising and the kiss is soft and sweet, hesitant and shy, tentative and tender. It is brief, a slow yet short-lived dance of lips, and Steve feel's like he is living. Like his heart is swing-dancing in his chest and there is champagne bubbling in his stomach and shining like liquid gold. He opens his eyes and Loki flutters his dark eyelashes, green gold-flecked eyes gazing up at him like he is his absolution, like kissing him had just absolved his sins into star-dust. 

"That is my gratitude, Steven Rogers, for your benevolence,"


End file.
